PS
by AudaciousAdventures
Summary: P.S. If every decision I've ever made has landed me to this one spot in time, there's no way that I can change how much I've hurt you. So instead I'll leave you this note, in the hope that you can forgive me somehow. After we have lived our lives, this is my post-script.
1. Chapter 1

So here's what you need to know before you judge the exact placement that my fist is in, in accordance with Blake Matthews' face. My name's Ryan. I'm a freshman in college, studying psychology and doing family profile studies. Really, I don't _want_ to be a psychologist. I hear enough rants about problems of rich, sad, people from volunteering at the senior centre. I'd gone to the Bridgeport Hospital every day after school when I was in high school, and sat there, listening to old stories and playing chess. Only one thing kept me there after I'd graduated: Daisy Swizzle.

Daisy was a definite party girl. She would roll with the popular crew; Lola Belle, Katrina Pala, Katelyn Missoni, and Matilda Smart, Jack Porter, Ti Bellino, Mick Situp and Tom Wordy. They had parties all the time, and I would be invited sometimes. I remember the first day I saw Daisy at the senior centre. I'd taken a double-take to make sure it was her. Sure enough, the piercing green eyes, light cappuccino colored skin and light brown hair marked the one and only Swizzle. She blunt bangs that she'd put into this intricate style, and had waved at me when she first got in.

Now, I'd like to think that 4 years ago, I was pretty tall for my age, but that's only because the high school freshman of today were not blessed with height. Even so, my height is really the only thing that makes me stand out. I have grey eyes, a mess of curly hair that is usually stuck underneath a beanie and sun-kissed skin from playing chess under the sun with Bob the former builder. The first day that she came, I went over to help her set up for the shuffleboard tournament they'd be having. I still remember that day, that very first turning point.


	2. Chapter 2

"Hey," she says, her light brown hair catching the sun perfectly, "I didn't know you volunteered here."

"Yea," I say, folding up the fresh pool towels, "my grandpa used to stay here after my parents died."

"Right," Daisy says, knitting her eyebrows together, "sorry…touchy subject?"

"Not really, "I say, shrugging. "It's just part of the bio."

Daisy smiles. "After high school hell, your own story will be in that bio, instead of your parents'."

"I'd like to think so," I say, smiling back.

She grabs a basket full of towels and we bring them over to the pool deck. "So what do you want to do with your life, after high school of course?"

I put the basket inside the cupboard and lean back on it. "I'm undecided. I know, I know, college and uni is in four years and I probably should decide on _something_, but I don't think I'm good at anything."

Daisy rolls her eyes. "Come on, I totally saw you playing piano that one time in the music wing."

I shake my head. "Yea, but what am I supposed to do with a piano skill?"

Daisy shrugs. "I'm not an expert on anything but mixing drinks," she laughs, "but I definitely think you could be in a band. Plus, this is _Bridgeport_ for crying out loud! Most of my friends were born like kings, but some just have to take the crown. Don't waste your talent man!"

I smirk. "I've heard you were quite the virtuoso in your middle school days."

"That I was," she says, nodding and smiling.

"What did you play?" I ask, as we walk back inside. Our shifts are over, but I want to keep the conversation going, and she doesn't seem to protest.

She smiles in wonder, "I could play anything, and everything. Piano, bass, guitar, drums, I'd mastered them all."

"But I take it the music industry isn't your thing?"

She shrugs. "I don't know I kind of just want to be a master at mixology. It sounds lame, mixing drinks at bars and pubs and whatever, but you can get paid some serious cash. And it'd mean I could work at a party, every night, and get _paid_ for it! Do you _know_ how awesome that would be?"

I smile at her enthusiasm. "It sounds like a dream."

A devilish smile is set on her lips. "Perhaps, but it's an attainable one. I am, after all, a master of the skill itself. I just need to get myself out there."

"Remind me to ask you for a skill booster before tomorrow's exams," I say, flipping the curls out of my face.

She laughs the sound light and airy. "Remind _me_ to invite you to my next rager, which will probably be right after exams."

We're both laughing, and getting popsicles from the fridge. I'm thinking that maybe this can turn out to be something beautiful and wonderful and real, when there's a loud honking outside the door.

"DAISY, BABE WE HAVE TO MEET KATE AT THE LIBRARY OR WE'RE GOING TO FAIL!" I hear Matilda screaming.

Daisy rolls her eyes. "I'll be out in a minute!"

I grin at her, then hand her an extra Popsicle. She salutes me with it, then grabs her jacket and runs out the door. "It was awesome talking to you!"

"You too," I say, as the door clicks shut and I recline into the comfy beanbag chair, eating my Popsicle while the summer sun blazes on.


	3. Chapter 3

That day was four years ago. I'm still here, folding towels and placing pudding cups. Daisy comes less regularly now, dealing with living out her dream. I guess I decided to study psychology because I wanted to be able to understand people like Daisy. She was successful in all her endeavors, working at high class sports clubs as a mixologist, but every day that she came in she looked more and more tired. From my studies, I knew that it was stress, but we hadn't spoken in a while since it'd gotten busy with March break visits. Now, on the first day of March Break, I could see her shoulders slumping and her tired, bedraggled movements. I went over to her, two popsicles in hand.

"You look beat," I say, "what's up?"

She sighs and runs a hand through her hair. She'd grown out the bangs, and then cut them again, but in a side-swept style that seems to be sweeping the nation. The sun had made her hair two shades lighter, and it was pulled up into a high bun. "Living the dream isn't as much fun as I thought it'd be," she says, taking a Popsicle and collapsing on the sofa. "And the worst part is it's not even about my job."

"Then what's going on?" I ask.

"Do you remember Mick Situp?"

"Yea," I say, "party animal who likes indie music and veggies?"

"That's the one," she says, "Well the guy asks me out on a date. And since he's a funny guy, whom I like, and we'd been friends for a long time, I say, 'sure, why not?'"

"Okay…" I say, composing my mask of indifference easily.

"So on our date, he takes me to a VAMP club!"

Puzzled I respond with, "Enlighten me on vamp clubs? Is this some urban term I'm not used to?"

"Vampires exist," she says, "The Plasma Lounge is their bar. I'm dead serious Ry, you don't even know! They're _insane_. So anyway, on our _date_ he confesses to me that he'd been turned into a vampire, and that if we want to be together, I have to become one too!"

"What the hell?" I ask, almost dropping my Popsicle.

"I know right? There's no way I'm becoming a vampire. I take pride in my tans!"

"So what did you tell him?"

"I told him there was no way I was going to date him, and left," she says. "But now there's a creepy rich vampire stalking my house, and I've slept at Matilda Smart's for the past three nights. I love her to bits, but she's got an inappropriate roommate named Harry, and another named Alex, and they both keep hitting on me. Not to mention they're all artsy fartsy and I can't stand it. Plants over paintings, I always say."

"You could crash at mine," I suggest, "I live in a high rise on 2 Peak Parkway. I have like two roommates and one empty room. My mates are pretty awesome, and neither of them are inappropriate art enthusiasts. Finn is a bassist and Lydia is a guitarist."

"So you formed a band after all?" she says.

I smirk and nod. "We're not that big, but we're all in the same college and everything, and we just formed up a couple days ago. We actually already have a gig at Eugi's I think."

"I might just mix that day then," she says, smiling. "And I think I'll take you up on that offer. Would you mind coming along with me to move my stuff? It's not like I have much anyway, just a couple books and stuff."

"Sure," I say. "I think my shift just ended, where is this apartment of yours?"

We take my Porsche (a graduation present from my rich aunt) over to the outskirts of the city, and get to Daisy's studio. It exudes an aura of modern parties. A professional looking bar with a couple of drinks on it sits next to a sleek fireplace. A high-definition television and bean bag chairs, small study space, drum set, sleek, tiny kitchen and fancy looking bedroom complete the apartment.

"I like it," I say, as Daisy pops in and throws her keys on a hook, going to her room to pack.

"Thanks," she calls, "I hate it!"

I laugh, "Why?!"

"It was a gift given to me from my step-father to keep me from arguing or interrupting his _fabulous_ relationship with my new step-mom. Payoff may seem sweet but it's really just pathetic."

"God," I say, "party girl has depth."

She comes out of her room carrying a giant bag full of clothes, and then skids into the study to grab her computer. "No kidding eh? We white chicks have such bad reputations when it comes to this partying nonsense."

"If that's true, then you white chicks need to get back in the game!" I say, laughing.

"Sure," I say, rolling my eyes, "but only if you white boys will buy us drink after drink after drink."

"Don't start ripping on us white boys! We certainly have our moments of questionable action, but _you_ girls are the ones who run to the bathroom every five minutes to talk every decision over with your friends!"

Daisy's mouth drops open. "Oh no, you did _not _just rip on our bathrooms! We decide a lot of _very _important relationship decisions in there!"

"And _how_ many relationships end in utter and complete failure? Hmmm…"

She throws a pillow at my head. "Shut up psycology major!"

"You gotta use what your momma gave you," I say, laughing and shrugging.

"Oh yea and your mom gave you the ability to be a complete social socience nerd?"

"My mom gave me the ability to choose what I wanted to become, and this seemed like the perfect fit," I respond, grabbing a soda out of her fridge. I toss her one, and she catches it perfectly, even spinning it around with her mixology skills. Even as she'd done it, there was not a hint of showing off, it was as if it was a natural tendency for her.

"And why was that?" she asks, popping open the cap of the soda and taking a swig.

"Being the nerd I am, I really don't understand people at all," I say, making her smile. "That, and I've gotten over some pretty bad things in my own life, and I've picked up a few trademark skills. I'm not the selfish type, and rather not have everyone in the world going insane while I sit, hollowed up in my room, meditating."

She smiles, and stretches out on to her bean bag couch. She waves me over, signalling for me to join her. I do, poised on the armchair comfily. "I love how you can so easily hide the balance between serious and hilarious. It's quite intriguing."

"No it's not," I say, smiling a bit sadly, "it's actually a curse. Because when things get serious, I just want to laugh them away, even though someone else doesn't want to. It's my way of dealing with things, jokes and stuff, even though my jokes are terrible." I sigh. "I suppose that's just the way the cookie crumbles."

"Never understood that metaphor," Daisy says thoughtfully. "My cookies have never once crumbled. I always eat them before that."

I roll my eyes and help her pack up the rest of her things before loading them into the van and hitting the road for Peak Parkway.


	4. Chapter 4

The drive to Peak Parkway was fun. We'd found a food truck outside of Daisy's apartment and gotten fresh burritos for the drive. We'd cranked up soul music while we were going, and when we arrived, we were both laughing for absolutely no reason. It's the best kind of laughter that shortens your breath and makes you want to cry, but at the same time makes you feel like everything will always be alright from that point forward.

We head up the elevator with the couple of bags Daisy had and I unlocked the apartment doors. Finn was the first thing we saw. He was tall, with flipped up hair that was eggplant purple. He was wearing a Plant vs. Zombies shirt and some sport grey fluffy sweatpants.

"Hey," Finn says, crunching on some fruit parfait Lydia had made the other day. "Look, behind you, a female!"

I roll my eyes at my best friend. His purple hair was claimed to be natural, and so was his erotic personality. He reminded me for an imaginary friend I'd once had, except fin was…human.

"Hi!" Daisy beams. "I'm Daisy!"

"She's going to crash here for a bit while avoiding a creepy vampire ex," I say, moving the bags into the living room.

"Interesting women you bring by," Finn says. "Nevertheless, I'm Finn Harroway." He bows. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

I hear a yawn from Lydia, who walks in wearing a red, floral sundress to compliment her cotton candy pink hair. Lydia, like Finn, claimed it was natural, and I'd never seen either of them dye their hair. I'd searched and searched for dye packets and come up with nothing. Lydia and Finn had so many similar qualities. Interesting hair colours and their close resemblance to childhood friends. But, different to Finn, who had an especially close relationship with me, Lydia had not. Lydia had shown up shortly after…certain events. She'd been comforting instead of pressuring, and somehow, I'd learned to love her like a best friend.

"Hi guys!" Lydia says. "And…girl?"

"Ouch Lydia, you speak as if we don't always throw the most amazing parties every week."

"Sure, sure, you and your parties," Lydia says, "Anyway, hi, I'm Lydia!"

"Daisy," Daisy says, nodding.

"She's crashing here with us," I say.

"Boyfriend troubles?" Lydia says.

Daisy sighs. "Lord, if only it was that simple."

"Oooh, I want to hear this. My friends are all jerks on vacation without foreign texting plans; I've been dying for some gossip. Spill the beans!"

Lydia grabs the bags out of my hands, and pulls Daisy into the spare room. I cast a weary look at Finn who shrugs. "I suppose Lydia is a girl after all."


End file.
